One May Smile, and Smile, and Be a Villain
by Stanleigh
Summary: SET DURING 1x10. A sly comment from Crios has set Jason's mind whirring, and, in the aftermath of the tavern brawl, he feels the urge to encourage Pythagoras to let down his perfectly constructed walls just a little further...


_DISCLAIMER: I own none of the 'Atlantis' characters, locations etc.; they belong to the BBC. All I own is the plot of this story._

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_ "Meet it is I set it down that one may smile, and smile, and be a villain._"- _Hamlet_ by William Shakespeare, Act One, Scene Five

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_"Pythagoras, my friend."_

_"I am not your friend."_

_"How you wound me with your insults."_

Jason and Pythagoras scrambled up the steps of the house, fumbling blindly with the lock in the gloom of the twilight before toppling unceremoniously over the threshold. Jason coughed, spitting dust and straw out of his mouth in disgust as Pythagoras slammed the door shut behind them and bolted it.

"That was not- one of our better- ideas," he gasped, wincing as he inspected the painful lump on the back of his head with his fingers.

"You can say that again." Pythagoras collapsed onto a stool, groaning softly as his back clicked. "You're mightily brave, Jason, but you can be incredibly foolhardy."

Jason spluttered indignantly. "It was your idea to confront him, not mine!"

"'Confront' was not the word I used," Pythagoras said primly, rising gingerly to his feet and limping over to the shelves. "One does not confront a man like Crios without receiving a black eye for the trouble."

"So I gather. But at least we know where Hercules is heading."

Pythagoras tossed a wineskin to Jason, who caught it deftly from his position on the floor. "We do get into some scrapes, you and I," he observed shrewdly, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards as Jason removed the stopper with his teeth. "It makes my life before you arrived seem rather dull and nondescript."

"You had your triangles," Jason reminded him, lobbying the wineskin back to him. "Our bizarre adventures are simply a distraction from your great destiny." He cringed; the words had sounded far less grand and omniscient in his head.

Pythagoras, who had been in the middle of a large gulp of wine, suddenly choked and started to splutter. Jason leapt up instinctively to bang him heartily on the back, but was pushed away with a pained cry and an angry glare.

"I don't need any more bruises, thank you," he snapped breathlessly, once he had recovered his composure. He replaced the wineskin on the cluttered shelves with a wrinkled nose. "Destiny, indeed. Anyone would think you were the Oracle."

Jason forced a laugh. "It seems she's rubbing off on me," he acknowledged, rather embarrassedly. It had been bothering him, the lack of time that Pythagoras had dedicated to his triangles since his arrival. He'd read _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_; he knew that terrible things could happen to those who meddled with time. If his presence prevented Pythagoras from realising his own theorem, then where would that leave the modern world? Would the space-time continuum spontaneously combust? And, more importantly, wouldn't GCSE Mathematics be a good deal more difficult without 'A squared plus B squared equals C squared' on the formula sheet?

"Jason!" Pythagoras snapped, and Jason jumped. "Have you been listening to me? What are we going to do about Hercules?"

"_I_ don't know the way to these caves."

"Well, I doubt that Hercules does either, to be fair. The only places that he can get to without a map are the tavern and the baths."

"Can't we just ask that Crios for a map?" Jason moaned helplessly, sinking onto a stool and letting his forehead fall with a clunk onto the surface of the table. He dimly registered the sound of wooden legs scraping along flagstones opposite him.

"Don't be ridiculous," Pythagoras said wearily, "I told you, he can't be trusted. We'd ask for a map to the caves and he'd send us to a lions' den in Golgotha."

Jason jerked his head up. "_Golgotha_?" he repeated, stunned. "But- but I thought- isn't that where Jesus was crucified?"

Pythagoras stared at him. "Who's Jesus?" he asked blankly, warily. "And what does 'crucified' mean?"

Jason opened his mouth to reply, but promptly shut it again. Pythagoras had his own gods, his own religion; to recount the story of Jesus Christ in the New Testament would waste a great deal of time and breath. And he didn't have the heart to explain the Immaculate Conception to Pythagoras' innocent ears.

"No-one," he said eventually, "Just- just someone pretty important back where I come from."

"Is he your king?"

"Not mine. But he is some people's, I suppose."

"How can he be some people's king and not everyone's, if you all live in the same place?" Pythagoras pressed, with his characteristic wide-eyed curiosity that Jason usually found rather endearing.

"It's complicated," he said awkwardly. "People spend a lot of time arguing about it where I come from. There are lots of different kings with lots of different names, and different groups often fight about which one is better than the other."

"Why can't they all be as good as each other?" Pythagoras asked. "Poseidon is more powerful than Aphrodite, for example, which no-one would dispute, but neither of them is more important than the other. They both matter, but in different ways."

Jason's mouth gaped for a moment. If only Pythagoras could become a permanent member of the United Nations Security Council.

"You make it all sound so simple," he sighed. "That's what is lacking in government at the moment: simplicity. That and logic. Though we're better off without Brown."

"I hate it when you go off like this," Pythagoras groaned, "You don't make any sense." He narrowed his eyes suddenly. "Are you sure that that blow to your head hasn't upset your thinking? I have several herbs that might-"

"I'm sure," Jason laughed, "I'm sorry." He hesitated slightly, then hurried on before Pythagoras could interject. "Crios seemed to know you fairly well," he ventured cautiously. "Couldn't you try to use whatever connection you have with him to our advantage? I don't know- do you have anything on him that we could use for- for blackmail purposes, or…?" Jason felt his face inflame, and something hot and shameful coiled tightly in his stomach. But they were running out of options; Hercules needed to be reached as soon as possible, particularly if these Scythians (who sounded, to Jason, like cannibalistic lunatics) were on the loose in the forest.

To his surprise, Pythagoras blanched. He swallowed hard several times (Jason's eyes subconsciously following the movement of his Adam's apple), and ran a hand through his sandy hair, as he often did when under pressure.

"I don't think I have anything," he said unconvincingly, "And even if I did, I wouldn't look for help from a man like _him_." He spoke with such venom that Jason looked up sharply, shame forgotten.

"What do you mean?"

Pythagoras seemed to realise his slip, and the set of his jaw hardened slightly. "He's a crook," he snapped, "An underhand criminal who profiteers from other people's despair. If I never spoke to him again then I would be more than pleased."

An uneasy silence descended upon the table. Jason wondered if he had spoken out of turn, if he had somehow touched a nerve. Pythagoras was pulling moodily at a splinter poking out of the edge of the table, mouth clenched tightly shut; he looked to be undergoing some form of internal conflict.

"Crios was a friend of my father's," he said suddenly, expressionlessly, and Jason's eyebrows shot up so high that they were in danger of disappearing into his hair. "I grew up in Samos, the fishing port, and Crios and my father were senior clerks in one of the trading companies. That's why Arcas and I received an education: we weren't wealthy, exactly, but my father earned enough to pay for basic tutelage."

Pythagoras paused. He still hadn't looked up from the edge of the table. They'd left the windows open before visiting the tavern, and the heavy scent of wood smoke had crept into the room. It made Jason feel rather light-headed and queasy.

"Crios knew about my father's drinking problem," Pythagoras said, and still his face was blank, his voice cool and flat. "They would often visit the taverns together after work. It amused him, I believe, to egg my father on, to watch him become so drunk that he could barely stagger home. As though it were sport." Pythagoras hesitated, hands gripping the edge of the table. "Whether he knew what- what my father did when he got home, I don't know. My mother never left the house with a damaged face, and my father put it about that her health was fragile. So perhaps not."

"Did you see a lot of him?"

"Who? Crios, or my father?"

"Crios."

Pythagoras looked thoughtful for a moment. "Not really," he said slowly, "Though I saw enough of him to be able to recognise him when I moved to Atlantis."

"How old were you? When you moved to Atlantis."

"Seventeen. My brother was fourteen- more than capable of taking care of my mother." Pythagoras spoke fiercely, as though he felt the need to assure Jason that he hadn't abandoned his family. "My father had been dead for four years; we'd moved on. At least, as much as we could. They didn't need me anymore." He met Jason's eyes, and the blue blazed a path through the gloom of the unlit room.

"And Crios?" Jason prompted softly, unable to look away.

"He moved away soon after my father died," Pythagoras said dully. "He doesn't have a wife or children, not that I know of, anyway, so I suppose there was nothing tying him down. But I didn't know that he'd moved to Atlantis, not till I arrived myself." Pythagoras chewed the inside of his cheek, digging a nail into a gouge in the table. His gaze flickered up to meet Jason's several times; it was as though he was wondering how much to divulge, how many more secrets to reveal.

"I think he knows about me," he said finally. He sighed at Jason's look of confusion. "What I did. Back in Samos. To my father."

Jason's eyes widened. "Has he said something to you?"

Pythagoras shook his head slowly. "No- but he'll look at me sometimes, when we pass each other in the bazaar or if I catch his eye in the tavern, and there's a- a _hardness_ there. A hatred, almost, but perhaps a- a little respect too." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, cheekbones flushing darkly. "I don't know. Perhaps I'm paranoid. But do you see now why we can't ask anything of him? I know it's selfish-"

"It's not selfish." The conviction in Jason's voice caused the blush to spread down to Pythagoras' neck. "We don't need him. We'll work this out together."

Pythagoras ducked his head, but Jason didn't miss the slight smile that tugged at his lips.

_FIN_

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Any feedback is greatly appreciated. Thank you for reading._


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